


Anthology

by Buttons15



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-22 04:30:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11372625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buttons15/pseuds/Buttons15
Summary: A collection of stories that are too short for me to publish as actual stories. Various pairings, mostly femslash, tagged as I write them.





	1. Mute (Widowmaker/Mercy)

**1\. Mute**

 

Angela Ziegler was a creature of habit. It hadn’t always been that way, not at all – when left unattended, her life would invariably descend to chaos – but she made it so for the good of others. And so she would get home, place her backpack on the floor and lock the door behind her, and then she would announce her presence.

“Ame,” she walked over to the living room. “I’m home.”

Amelie didn’t turn, facing the TV instead. Angela stepped into her field of vision and sure enough, amber eyes started lazily tracking her movements. She smiled. Amelie smiled back.

“Miss me?”

The other stuck out her tongue, eyes twinkling. Angela felt something tighten on her chest and walked over, happily sinking into the sofa with a sigh. A second later, she felt a head plop down on her lap. She scoffed, but tangled her fingers on black hair and rubbed Amelie’s scalp anyway.

“Yeah, I missed you too.”

There was no answer – there never was. Whether Amélie  _couldn’t_  or _wouldn’t_ talk remained a mystery; her brain scans showed no signs of lesions that could explain it, but her body had been so tampered with that Angela could hardly tell whether the language areas were still on the right places.

It was a communication block rather than merely a speech one. Amelie showed little to no interest in dialogue via signing or writing either, much to her distress, which made any attempts of therapy considerably harder.

There had been progress, of course – a couple words here and there after months of persistence, just enough for Angela to be sure that speech was indeed a possibility. Mostly, though, there was silence.

Angela had grown used to it.

Her eyes drifted to the TV, where a rerun of the latest episode of masterchef played, and she couldn’t help but smile. She’d known Amelie from before – a stage loving dancer, energetic and extroverted but also extremely kind – and she couldn’t help but make the comparison every now and then.

“Cooking shows again?”

This person was someone else entirely. Quiet, very much shy and reclusive, yet still strangely touch-starved and people-loving. Amelie turned to look up at her, giving her one long and expressive stare.

“We can try this one later,” Angela pointed to the bit of French cuisine. “A nice break from my _omellette au fromage_ , don’t you think?”

A smile. Angela smiled back, more on reflex than anything. Whether Amelie could cook before Talon, she did not know, but whatever had been done to her messed her tongue up good, which had the inconvenient side effect of making her terrible in the kitchen. The food was always too salty or too peppery or not sweet enough.

Angela didn’t really mind. Years of medical practice made her an expert on eating pretty much anything in a span of five minutes. She yawned, stretching. It had been a long day. She tapped Amelie on the shoulder, signaling her to sit up, and made as if to stand.

Amelie’s hand on her wrist stopped her, and she tilted her head.

“Ame? Something wrong?”

No answer, just big round eyes staring. Amelie didn’t let go, tugging her back into the couch.

“I kinda need to eat,” she pointed out, humming when the other wrapped cool arms around her neck. She did like the contact, but she was also starving. “No, really, I’m hungry. Can you let me go? Just for a little bit.”

“No.”

She froze. Amelie’s voice was hoarse from disuse, but it sounded like the most beautiful thing she’d heard all day. The grin which spread over her face was sincere.

“No?” she turned sideways, her cheek brushing against Amelie’s neck. “You won’t let go of me?”

“No.”

“Not even so I can have dinner?” She absently brushed a thumb against the woman’s elbow.

“No.”

She covered Amelie’s arms with her palms. “Will I just have to piggyback carry you around, then?”

She’d done that before. Whatever material Amelie’s bones were currently made of, they were surprisingly lightweight yet resistant, and Angela was an orthopedic surgeon anyway – she had some muscle.

“Really? Like a marsupial?”

No answer. Angela turned her head to catch Amelie on her peripheral vision, and sure enough, she was smiling.

“The things I do for love,” She muttered, and then she stood and carried the other around, first to the kitchen and then up the bedroom, increasingly amused both at her own physical resilience and at just how long how long Amelie could hold on.

Her arms were numb when the two dropped down on the large bed. A moment later, Amelie had curled up in her usual tiny ball, head tucked under Angela’s chin, perfectly nestled even though she was taller.

“You’re like a cat,” she teased, wrapping her arm around the other’s shoulder, warmth being stolen from her at by what would be alarmingly cold skin on anyone else. She pulled the blanket over them and reached out for the light switch, but halted halfway there when Amelie abruptly moved, backing away to meet her eyes.

“Yes?”

She was struggling, Angela could tell. They locked their gazes for what felt like forever, until their skins were finally the same temperature and their breaths were in synch. Amelie licked her lips and inhaled, holding the air and standing still.

“Angela.”

_Oh._

She opened her mouth to reply, but didn’t get a chance, not when Amelie’s lips suddenly silenced her.

They spoke more than any words ever could.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Hi Buttons, what is this mess?"
> 
> I opened my hard drive and just decided to dump all of my unpublished stuff in a single ball of chaos and that's what y'all get from it;
> 
> "Do you take short story prompts?"
> 
> Sure! Send them to me on my [tumblr](http://buttons15.tumblr.com/). I don't promise I'll write them - my life has roughly as much entropy as a bike going downhill with no breaks and on fire and I often have no time to even sleep - but I promise I'll _think about them and maybe write them_


	2. Synesthesia (Sombra/Symmetra)

**2\. Synesthesia**

 

“Like this?” Sombra said, placing the blindfold over her eyes and tying the back with a knot.

Satya reached out and pulled the cloth so it evenly covered the same area over both sides. “Yes, thank you.”

“You know,” the other mumbled. “Some people would call this kind of thing…kinky.”

“Kinky?”

Sombra sighed. “Yeah.  Like, uh… _como lo dijo…_ ”

“I know what the word means.”  Satya paused, tilted her head. She didn’t derive any special sexual pleasure from seeing her partner’s eyes covered, she just honestly didn’t think she could do it under scrutiny.

She considered Sombra’s sentence for a couple seconds and decided she didn’t particularly care. Then she made the active effort of thinking of someone else. “Does this bother you?”

“N-no. Not at all.”

“Then it’s okay,” Satya drew the simple conclusion, then took a deep breath and _stared._ Not at Sombra, but rather at herself. Now that she was certain Sombra couldn’t see, her anxiety was showing. She was afraid a mere look would unmake her, and so she closed her eyes, too.

_Start with something familiar._

She took Sombra’s hand between hers. They’d done that before – held hands. Satya recoiled on impulse when their fingers touched, the other’s so much warmer than her own, mostly because she was cold sweating.

She opened her eyes and did it again. Once the initial impulse had passed, she found the heat spreading through her skin rather soothing. Each of Sombra’s nails was painted a different shade of purple, and the hues were off gradient.

Satya turned Sombra’s hand, making the palm face up, and explored the lines and marks with her index finger. She traced the shape of the hand, following the edges like she did when she put her palm on a paper and used a pen to draw its contours, then she flipped it once more.

_The index and middle finger’s knuckles are bruised._

She touched them, curious. The texture over the skin there was rougher than over the rest of the hand. Furthering her investigations, she grabbed the other hand and compared the two – the pattern repeated itself on the other side.

Satya stared at them, processing that information while she squeezed the other’s fingers on both sides until they were white. She counted how long it took the blood to flow back, giving the skin its color back.

Then information clicked in her brain and she shot her head up to stare at Sombra, whose expression was unreadable.

_Punches. They’re bruised because she’s been throwing punches._

She intertwined her fingers with Sombra and then carefully folded them to a fist, noticing how it made the tendons in the wrist move. Satya flexed the wrist up and down until she could see them distinctly pop out against the skin, then traced it with her index finger until it vanished and followed that line all the way up to the elbow.

Sombra shivered.

“Was that –”

“ _Sí,_ it was okay, _”_ Sombra let out a long held breath. “Do carry on.”

Satya returned her attention to the touching. She was considerably more relaxed and confident then, and as a result of it, much more daring. She ran her palm over Sombra’s arm, from wrist to shoulder and then back down, humming to herself as she got used to the smoothness and how it was constantly broken by bumps of scar tissue.

Sombra’s sleeveless t-shirt was loose against her body and had nothing under it, so Satya had no problem in sneaking her finger under the straps to trace over Sombra’s collarbones. She appraised the angles they made – the left one was a few degrees more tilted than the right one – and the nick on the sternum where they were closest to one another.

Satya felt her fingers move when Sombra swallowed, turning her attention to the big muscle that ran through the neck – the sternocleidomastoid. She liked that word; it was pleasantly cold and sweet all at the same time.

Her fingers stopped on their tracks when they met the strong reverberation of Sombra’s pulse. She approached, inquisitive, her touch pressing down the rigid rings that made the trachea, and then curiosity got the best of her and she leaned in and touched her ear on Sombra’s neck.

The raspy sound of air going through her airways brought a sandpaper texture to her tongue, and she hesitated for a split second. Something else had that same consistency – the word ‘Vishkar’ – but Vishkar was uncomfortably icy and somewhat bitter. Sombra’s breathing, on the other hand, was coarse but not unpleasantly so.

Like gently touching a texturized wall, the stimuli felt soothing, and so Satya lingered, noticing how the other’s skin crawled with goosebumps whenever the warm air leaving her nostrils touched it. She idly drew circles on Sombra’s arm as she listened, until they were breathing in synch. She hung back some more and closed her eyes.

Satya was acutely aware of where their bodies touched, her side to Sombra’s abdomen, her ear gradually picking up the heat of the other’s throat, the crackling of air entering and exiting their bodies, every now and then interrupted when Sombra swallowed –

_Not quite sandpaper,_ she mused, opening her eyes. And then, smiling, she touched her lips on Sombra’s goosebumps and moved them.

_Exactly like that,_ she thought, humming with satisfaction, intertwining their fingers once again. This time, the shaking did not come from her.

“Sombra?” It was a word with no texture, no temperature and no taste.

“You’re doing well, _princesa.”_

“Really?” her voice broke. The entire endeavor was pleasant, but stressful anyway.

“ _Sí._ You’re doing great.”

“Okay.” She shifted, nestling her cheek on the crook of Sombra’s neck. “Do you think we can stop for today?”

Sombra pressed her chin on the crown of Satya’s head. “Of course.” She exhaled. “Can I take this off?”

“Not yet.”  She didn’t move for a full five minutes, gathering her guts for what she wanted to do next. And then, without warning, she pulled away, turning to face Sombra, and leaned in until her lips touched the other’s ear.

She whispered Sombra’s real name – smooth as silk, and _spicy._ Unique in a way she could not quite explain, because that same word hadn’t tasted that way before they were together. Yet after their first affectionate words, it had morphed into something with an intensity Satya had never savored before.

This time, when Sombra shivered, Satya’s heart skipped a beat, too.

She pressed their lips together – briefly so, because the contact hit her like lightning, making every hair on her body stand on end, and she was physically unable of holding it for long. Satya lacked in empathy but did not lack in intellect, and she knew for a fact that her pacing on relationships was slower than most. Sluggish, even. It anguished her, but Sombra was patient and they would never be together otherwise.

When she pulled away this time, she took the blindfolds with her. Satya stood, stretched and headed for the shower. Pushing boundaries and doing new things had a tendency to make her skin a little itchy, even when they did not involve so much touching.

Sombra was still in the room once she was done putting on her perfectly white pajamas, flipping through the channels on the hotel room’s TV. Satya hesitated.

“Do you want me to go?”

She considered it. “No. Stay.” A pause. “Can we watch extreme engineering?”

It wasn’t on, but Sombra made it be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I headcanon that Sombra's real name is Carolina and no one can talk me out of that


	3. Fondue (Sombra/Mercy)

**3\. Fondue**

 

"Hey, doc! Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?"   
  
Angela rolled her eyes so hard she could all but see the back of her skull, then sighed and checked her wristwatch.  Underground Overwatch activity meant she sometimes had to work with unusual assets...like Talon.    
  
She had little moral opposition to it herself - as long as she didn't have to hurt anyone, she didn't see the point of getting into fickle matters of right and wrong. She was a doctor first and foremost, and she was there to offer her support to any who might come to harm.   
  
Sombra was there for support too - tech support.   
  
"We've been sitting here for two hours and you've hit on me nonstop. Aren't you running out of pickup lines?"   
  
"I have a great muse," the hacker winked. "I mean, look at you. On a scale of one to ten, you're a total nine."   
  
"A nine?" she huffed, half offended, half amused. Sombra made eye contact and grinned.   
  
"A nine, yes. Cause I'm the one you're missing."   
  
So many years of training in keeping poker faces, yet she couldn't help it - she snorted.    
  
"I can keep going all night, doc," Sombra smirked, smug. "I can keep up all night on a lot of things, if you catch my drift."   
  
"Are you seriously that desperate? I thought we were supposed to be enemies."   
  
"Desperate? For you? Absolutely." She winked again. Angela bit her tongue and kept her face serious. "Besides, I thought you didn't do the whole 'enemies' deal."   
  
"I don't."  She let the words hang in the air. For a moment, they shared a strangely comfortable silence.   
  
"Hey, Angela."   
  
"Yes?"   
  
"Charmanders are red, squirtles are blue -"   
  
"Oh my God. Don't you dare -"   
  
" - if I could choose someone, I'd choose you."   
  
The corners of her lips quirked almost involuntarily. She didn't dignify the pick up line with an answer. A minute passed, then two.   
  
"No, seriously," Sombra insisted. "Just go out with me. Only once.  I'll pick you up on your place -"   
  
"Okay."   
  
" ...and drive you to a nice restaurant and - wait. Really?"   
  
It was her turn to smile. "Friday. Seven.  I like fondue. Don't be late."


	4. Schnapsidee (Pharah/Mercy)

**4. Schnapsidee**

 

In all the months between Overwatch recall and the present, Fareeha Amari had never seen the doctor have a drink. Even in their relaxing moments Angela would not pick up a beer; even in Christmas or New Year’s she would never sip a glass of champagne. Fareeha was surprised, then, when she saw Angela with a glass of Dry Martini.  And then a Tequila. And then a Margherita.

By the fourth or fifth drink, surprise had given place to pure concern… and maybe a little amusement.

“Uhhm…” She eyed the woman clinging to her arm and dutifully snatched a glass of something alcoholic from her fingers. “Doctor Ziegler… maybe it’s time you gave the drinks a break.”

Angela giggled and buried her face further on Fareeha’s shoulder.

Flushing, Fareeha clumsily filled a glass with water with her free hand.  “Here, uhh, you always tell me to drink water to avoid hangovers.”

The doctor pulled back from where she’d been nested and gave Fareeha the puppy eyes, her cheeks pink. “You always take such good care of me.”

She would have facepalmed, if she didn’t have a tipsy Swiss attached to one arm and a glass of water on the other. Across the table, Lena watched the two with undisguised glee.

“So now we know why she doesn’t drink,” she muttered.

“Usually am the only doc in a radius of a fucketillion kilometers,” Angela babbled, plopping down on Fareeha’s shoulder once more. “Merrrcy not on call today.”

_Oh, that makes sense._

She placed the cup back on the table and absently rubbed a palm against the blonde’s scalp. The other hummed in appreciation.

_Such a hardworking little bird,_ she mused, and then immediately suppressed that thought before it could bring heat to her cheeks again.

“I think she likes you,” Lena teased, an idiot grin on her face.

“She’s drunk,” Fareeha did not make eye contact.

“I’m drunk,” Angela confirmed. “ _And_ I like you.”

“See! Drunk people can’t lie.”

Fareeha alternated thoughts of bloody murder with thoughts of gratitude, because as bad as it was to nurse her drunk _maybe crush_ in front of Lena, it could be twice as bad if Lena ganged up with Hana and Lucio. Fortunately for her, Lucio was busy taking care of the party’s soundtrack and Song was occupied signing posters and posing for photos – it was, after all, the premiere of her own movie.

“I’m _druuuuunk,_ ” the blonde repeated. “D’you think Hana will be mad?”

“I’m sure she won’t mind.”

“We should ask her!” Tracer exclaimed, eyes already searching the crowd.

“Lena don’t you dare –”

“Oi!! Song!! Drop the celeb act for a moment and give your friends a little attention!”

_Okay now would be a great time for a Talon intervention,_ she thought before she could help herself, and it was followed by guilt. Serious things were not to be joked with – serious things like terrorists or the current mental state of their doctor. Or so she believed.

Hana and Lena had no such qualms about the latter.  “This better be good, Oxton, you know I love my cameras.”

Lena took a swig off her own mug before grinning. “It’s no big deal. I just wanted you to reassure Angela – she’s worried you’ll be upset at how she got _completely wasted._ ”

The look that crossed Hana’s eyes could only be described as evil. “Oh, of course not.” She grabbed the nearest glass and extended it to the blonde “Here, have another.”

“ _Danke schon_ –” Angela reached out for the cup but Fareeha intercepted it and put it beyond reach, glaring at the younger women. “ – Aww.”  Angela pouted then snuggled closer, rubbing her nose against the side of Fareeha’s neck.

She was _definitely_ blushing now.

“ _Alle meine Entchen schwimmen auf dem See,_ ” the doctor half slurred, half sung. “ _Schwimmen auf them See…_ ”

“Please tell me you’re filming this,” Hana laughed.

“Ana is filming this,” Lena gestured with her chin.

_What?!_

She looked to the side and realized that yes, indeed, her mother had switched her communicator to recording mode and was subtly but surely immortalizing Angela’s embarrassing moments.

“Mom!!” Fareeha chided. “Okay, that’s enough.” She stood. “Angela, come on, I’m taking you home.”

The blonde snapped her head up and locked eyes with her, bearing an expression Fareeha could only describe as _hungry_.

“ _Wenn ich dir bis nach Hause nachlaufe, behältst du mich dann?_ ”

“Umm.” She tugged on her collar, suddenly uncomfortable. “I didn’t understand that, but yeah, sure, I guess.”

She pulled Angela up, letting the other lean on her as she guided them outside. Their early departure would have called the press’ attention, but Hana had enough compassion to distract the reporters while she snuck the doctor out.

“ _Du hast wünderschöne Augen,_ ” the Swiss muttered, tripping on her own feet. “… _und schöne Brüste._ ”

Sighing, Fareeha gave the street a quick scan. Once she was sure no one was watching, she slid her arms behind the other’s knees and picked her up like a bride. She expected resistance but Angela only giggled, pressing her face against the crook of her neck.

“ _Augenschmaus._ ”

She was used to carrying drunk Lena home and Angela wasn’t much heavier, really. She was just much _flirtier –_ or so Fareeha assumed by the tone of the words. Though they could be curses, too, because German always sounded angry anyway.

“ _Das gute Aussehen habe dich von deiner Mutter_.”

She hailed a cab, calling the driver’s attention with whistles and little jumps. She slid into the backseat, dropping Angela as carefully as she could muster. The other sat still for about two seconds before dropping down on her lap.

“’M gonna teach you _Deutsch,_ ” Angela mumbled right before passing out.

 

* * *

 

It was half past one in the afternoon when she knocked on Angela’s door, hoping that the other had gotten enough sleep. When the blonde opened the door, she was still in her pajamas, her hair a rat’s nest, deep rings under her eyes.

“Fareeha!”  the doctor greeted. “Do come in, I – I owe you an apology. I can usually hold my liquor very well –”

_Right._

_“_ – but it’s been a long time and I mixed many different beverages. My behavior was inappropriate, _es tut mir leid.”_

She couldn’t help the half smile that crossed her lips at the final words. “Huh. You know, you promised to teach me German at some point last night.”

Angela tilted her head. “I did?”

“Uh-huh. Right by the end, you were babbling a ton of it and I got curious. A pity I wouldn’t be able to repeat you the words.”

“A real pity,” Angela agreed, not sounding regretful at all.

Fareeha let her smile turn into a grin. “But you know, I think mom recorded some of it, so you could probably translate it to me…”

The doctor’s eyes widened. “You’re shitting me.”

“ _Maybe._ ”

Angela scoffed, shamelessly falling down face first on her bed.

“I’m gonna hold you to those lessons,” she insisted, teasing. “I’ve always wanted to learn German.”

The other rolled to the side to stare at her. “You have?”

“Of course! I would love to impress Reinhardt.”

“You want to learn German,” the blonde repeated, her tone unexpectedly bitter. “To impress _Rein?_ ”

Fareeha nodded, sheepish. She thought she heard Angela mutter something akin to ‘ _unbelievable._ ’

“ _Schnapsidee,_ ” Angela muttered. “That’s your word for today.”

“What’s it mean?”

“An idea you had while drunk you’ll probably regret.”

 


End file.
